Sugeng wanted to retort, but the car had reached Pranoto’s house and Suryono was greeting Murhalim, who was leaning his bicycle against the wall.
As they got out of the car Murhalim said, laughing,
‘Hallo millionaire, when did you exchange your car for an even larger one?’
Suryono, undisturbed by Murhalim’s insinuation, laughed and introduced Sugeng.
‘Here’s a new friend I brought along. He wants to participate in our discussions.’
The hell I do! Sugeng thought to himself. A lot of nice phrases!
Sugeng and Murhalim shook hands.
‘What’s tonight’s discussion about?’ Suryono asked Murhalim.
‘Pranoto will speak on the problems Western technology poses for our intellectuals.’
Aduh, more empty talk, Suryono commented inwardly.
They went inside. Sugeng was introduced to Pranoto, Iesye, Yasrin and six other people. The room, not too large, was already full.
‘What I have to say are just a few basic ideas, what I hope to get are your reactions, brothers. As I stated last month, Western technology presents a problem to our intellectuals, because its impact upon our people who are still traditionally oriented ….’
Suryono covered up a yawn with his left hand and looked stealthily at Iesye.
Iesye, feeling that she was being looked at, turned towards Suryono and smiled. Suryono smiled back, felt very happy and was now prepared to pay attention to Pranoto’s discourse.
‘The special problem of our people in confronting Western technology,’ said Pranoto, ‘is that we’ve been given no time, there is no transitional period. We either have to accept and use it or we’ll just have to go on being a backward nation. We must accept and use this Western technology not just for the people’s physical well-being, but also to ensure their spiritual freedom. In essence the problem can be reduced to a “to be or not to be” for our people. If we want to see our nation strong and independent we must accept Western technology. To reject it is to pass a death sentence on our own people. In facing this choice, many Indonesian intellectuals are hesitant. Their attitudes vary. Some reject it completely, because they consider the values of Western life incompatible with the spirit of the East, and see Western values as shallow and materialistic (which is true in part). Others want to adopt only what seems valuable and useful to them and reject what they don’t like, but such people never specify just which Western values they prize and which they consider harmful, or how one could consciously make the distinction and put it into practice. I believe that we must accept them as a whole, the good and what we now regard as bad, and let our people make up their own minds, in the creative process of adaptation.’
Murhalim said at this point, ‘If brother Pranoto has finished presenting his basic ideas, may I intervene now?’
Pranoto did not object, but added,
‘There are still a few aspects of the problem I have not yet touched upon, but I’ll be able to bring them up in the discussion later. It’s all right by me if brother Murhalim wants to speak now.’
‘First, I’d like to observe that although the problem of Western technology certainly exists for our intellectuals we stress this problem far too much. It’s as though we’re bewitched by the West, and every aspect of thought is inevitably drawn to the West. It’s almost as if we were radios tuned in to a single wave-length, receiving broadcasts from only one station – the West. For me the question is, why the West? And, as I see it, this continued orientation to the West won’t lead us anywhere. Don’t you realise that eighty or ninety per cent of our people are Moslems? The majority is fanatically religious even though ninety-nine per cent of them have no real conception of the spirit of Islam. Even among Islamic leaders themselves there are very few who understand it, its dynamic power to guide not only the spiritual life of the individual but also the total reorganisation of society. I remember Ies once raising the question of whether a revitalised and creative Islam could give us an answer to the problems challenging us today. Since then I have been thinking the question over, and I’ve tried to find an answer in some modern books on Islam. After reading these books (I’d be the first to admit that my studies have been far from complete), I have become convinced that keeping on with the West means approaching the problem on the wrong foot. Islam does possess standards and a spiritual dynamism to organise and run a modern state. However, the present leaders of Islam are still unable to reveal its treasures. One must admit that this fault, or deficiency, is not peculiar to the Indonesian Islamic leaders alone. On the contrary, in countries which pride themselves on being Moslem, we see how, behind the façade of Islam, the people have been exploited from century to century. The condition of the fellahin in feudal Arab countries is even more pitiful than that of the working class in capitalist countries. The Islamic leaders of Indonesia must have the courage to open their minds to modern technology. It would be well to avoid using the term Western here, as it could easily arouse irrational prejudices. It would perhaps be advisable to refer instead to modern technology, to avoid the reactions usually aroused in many of us at the mention of the word West. I don’t believe there is a single person in Indonesia who would want to reject modern technology – modern industrial techniques for producing the goods needed by our people, beginning with nails, wheels, screws, medicines, cars, railway equipment, ships, planes, radio, television, radar, rifles, bombs, tanks, guns and even atomic energy.’
‘I agree, of course, with the substitution of modern technology for the term Western technology,’ said Iesye, ‘but, in spite of the change of label, the actual influence of modern technology on society and on the spirit of our people will still be the same as if we used the term Western technology. This will certainly revolutionise our people’s mind and spirit and will shake the very foundations of their traditional values.’
‘And what is the harm in that?’ Suryono interpolated. ‘Why should we be afraid if the traditional foundations of our society are shattered?’
‘I didn’t mean to say that I’m afraid,’ Iesye replied quickly. ‘On the contrary, our society is so backward and lacking in initiative that I’d be only too glad to see a drastic change. Then perhaps, because of modern technology, the Indonesians will become a people able to stand on their own feet, master nature and assume their responsibilities to the nation and to humanity at large.’
‘That’s a very nice statement,’ said Yasrin, ‘but it’s not likely to lead to any definite conclusion. We reject the Japanese methods of adopting modern technology, that is using dictatorial means under the aegis of the Tenno Heika1 as they did before the Second World War. Nor can we accept the dictatorship of the proletariat, as practised in Soviet Russia or in the People’s Republic of China, to introduce modern technology to build up the country. The Indonesian nation has chosen the way of democracy. And we must have the courage to bear the consequences of this choice. Once modern technology has been introduced, let social development in our country take its own course, whether Islam possesses enough dynamism to further the penetration of modern technology, or the socialist ideology paves the way, or the Oriental soul is strong enough to support it. However, I must frankly admit to you, brothers, that I’m not a bit clear about what is really meant by the Oriental soul. Personally, I have no objections to the drastic changes which the introduction of modern technology may bring about in the basic values of our society or the spirit of our people, provided, however, that we do not destroy the principles of democracy. These changes are actually essential if our nation is to develop rapidly.’
‘Ah, I don’t agree with brother Yasrin’s view that modern technology can just be allowed to penetrate and that one can rely on subsequent developments to shape the future of our homeland,’ Murhalim cut in. ‘I am convinced that Islam, with its dynamism rediscovered, will provide a solid base for receiving modern technology!’
‘May I just make a comment?’ asked Suryono, and continued, ‘While listening to your tal
k, I got the impression that the real problem for our nation is not modern technology, whether from West or East. Since Kipling wrote “East is East and West is West …” the world has changed a good deal. Modern technology is not the exclusive monopoly of the West. An Eastern nation has been able to master it too. The problem we face is on what basic principles our country’s development should be directed. On the present democratic basis, which does not satisfy us? On Islamic principles as proposed by brother Murhalim? On a dictatorial basis as the admirers of the people’s democracies want? Even the Islamic basis that Murhalim wants carries the seeds of dictatorship in its exclusiveness and rejection of all alternatives. As we can see today, the attempt to develop our country and people along democratic lines has failed. Isn’t it possible that this has happened not because of the failings of the democratic system, but because too many of our people are still unprepared for democracy?
‘One of the basic assumptions in a democracy is that every person living in it must have enough intelligence to make conscious choices. How many of our people really understand what it is that they must choose? In our country a skilful demagogue can easily mislead the masses. In my opinion the problem is one of leadership. If the leadership of our country, which used to be so united, were to re-establish its unity, and on the strength of this unity govern the country, following the gradually developing ability of the people to build democratic institutions, that would be the best answer to the problem of our country’s leadership.’
‘So you agree to dictatorial methods?’ interposed Iesye.
Suryono looked gratefully at Iesye for this sign of her attention, and said,
‘Yes, but only for the initial phase. What are ten years, twenty years, in the history of a nation? Let people like Sukarno, Hatta, Sjahrir, Natsir and others like them, stay in power to guide the development of our state and nation.’
‘You mean a sort of collective leadership?’ asked Pranoto.
‘Yes, and I think that a collective leadership corresponds to the instincts of our people. In the villages, where life is based on the gotong royong1 system, one can find the predisposition for such collective leadership.’
‘The question is whether personal and party antagonisms have not now become so sharp as to make it impossible for the leaders to re-establish their unity,’ said Pranoto.
‘That certainly is an important factor,’ replied Suryono. ‘And, the way I see it, it is pretty unlikely that our leaders will unite again.’
‘In that case the alternative is that some group will emerge and take over the leadership of the state,’ said Pranoto.
‘The communists?’ asked Murhalim.
‘Or possibly the Moslem group,’ Pranoto answered.
‘It would be difficult for the Moslem group, since they’re badly split, and neither do they have a militant organisation ready to act like the P.K.I.2has,’ said Murhalim.
‘Another possibility is complete anarchy,’ interrupted Sugeng suddenly, who had just been sitting and listening all this time.
‘That also is quite a possibility,’ added Pranoto, ‘which implies disintegration of the state for which the lives of so many of our young people have been sacrificed.’
Pranoto then looked at his watch and said, ‘It’s really a pity, but our time has run out just as our discussion was getting to the most interesting and thought-provoking basic problems. I suggest that each of us make a deeper study of the problems we have touched upon. We could ask Murhalim, for instance, or another friend with enough interest and time, to formulate the conception of a state based on Islamic principles.
‘It’s true, of course, that too many of Islam’s foremost representatives only cling to Islam’s ancient glory without trying to make use of Islamic principles to solve our contemporary problems. So also, perhaps, we could ask Suryono to elaborate further the principle of collective leadership for our country. The consequences of the introduction of modern technology into Indonesian society could be examined more closely by comparisons with what happened in Japan, for example.’
After having taken Sugeng home Suryono took Iesye for a drive in his car, and on a quiet street in Kemajoran Baru he stopped the car, took Iesye’s hand and drew her close to him.
‘Ies …’ Suryono whispered.
He kissed her ear, his lips moved to Iesye’s cheek, then with his hand he slowly turned Iesye’s face until his lips met the girl’s lips and then their mouths were locked in a strong, deep kiss.
Suddenly Iesye withdrew and moved away from Suryono, as his hand tried to clasp her breast.
‘Don’t, Yon,’ said Iesye.
‘Why?’ asked Suryono.
‘I’m not sure about you yet,’ Iesye said.
‘Not sure how?’ Suryono retorted. Dahlia flitted through his mind. Somewhat perturbed, he thought, does Iesye know?
‘As I listened to your talk just now, I believed I could trust you. And I felt as though I cared for you,’ said Iesye. ‘But then I began to wonder once again if you weren’t just playing with words. And then, you are still young, but suddenly you’re wallowing in money. It seems abominable that young people should spend their time just trying to get rich while our people are in such a desperate condition. I don’t know what to think of you, Yon.’
Suryono was still, staring into the night through the windscreen, and admitting to himself – You’re right, Ies, you know me. I don’t know myself who I am and what I want. I’ve lost hold, I’m full of anxiety and fear.
Suryono turned the ignition key, started the engine and drove off.
‘Come, I’ll take you home,’ he said abruptly.
‘You’re not angry?’ Iesye asked.
Suryono turned to her, again he felt their closeness and bending his head he caressed Iesye’s cheek with his lips.
‘How could I be angry with you?’ he said.
Iesye held his hand, and the car rolled back into Djakarta.
City Report
Tony and Djok ordered the betja driver to stop at the corner when they noticed Suryono’s car alone in the deserted street. They short-changed the betja driver who drove off swearing at them, and proceeded to hide themselves behind a dark tree.
‘This is good pickings, Djok,’ said Tony, grinning. His large, strong teeth glistened in the darkness. Tony adjusted his pistol-holster inside his shirt behind the belt, and Djok clutched the handle of his knife.
‘Let them get going first,’ said Tony. ‘It’s easier to rob them when they’re in the middle of it. They’ll be scared stiff and give up their wallets fast, and then scoot when we tell them to get out.’
‘Nah, now, almost,’ said Tony when they saw Suryono drawing Iesye close to himself and then the two kissing.
Tony and Djok cautiously moved closer to the car, Tony’s hand ready to pull out his pistol.
Then Iesye withdrew, Suryono started the motor and before Tony managed to decide on a new plan of action the car had rolled away and was out of sight.
‘Ah, shit! Maybe they saw us coming,’ said Tony.
‘Looks like they didn’t make it.’
1 A state based on Islamic principles.
1 Pure Heart.
1 Emperor.
1 A system of reciprocal aid.
2 The Indonesian Communist Party.
November
ADRIZZLING rain had been falling incessantly since early dawn. The morning wind was blowing in hard from the sea. The wind whirled up dry leaves, darkening the mist which billowed in the streets. The wind sneaked into the houses, making Raden Kaslan press Fatma’s young and warm body closer to his own; making Suryono sink into deeper slumbers in his room while dreaming of Iesye; the wind blew into editor Halim’s room, who was sleeping apart from his wife because the night before they’d had another quarrel; disturbed Sugeng’s sleep, filled with nightmares; made Husin Limbara’s afflicted shoulder ache more painfully in the morning chill; and caused the sago-palm leaves on the thatched roof of Pak Idjo’s hut to rustle; and, having
penetrated inside, hovered around Ibu Idjo and Amat who sat chilled near the balai-balai, the morning wind swept by.
Ibu Idjo sat very still near the balai-balai; Amat sat very still near the balai-balai. They had shed all their tears since Pak Idjo had drawn his last breath at ten o’clock the preceding night. The oil lamp had long since gone out.
Ibu Idjo’s sorrow at the loss of her husband was mixed with relief. At last he was liberated from the torture of an illness which they had been unable to cure because they never had enough money to go to a doctor and buy the necessary medicines.
Now only she and Amat were left with the children. And Ibu Idjo was confident that she and Amat would manage to carry on. There was still the horse, and the delman cart was still there. Amat was working already, as a garbage coolie. All that remained to be done now was to bury Pak Idjo.
The atmosphere in Raden Kaslan’s workroom had been tense for some time. Raden Kaslan had been silent for a long while, unwilling to participate further in the discussion. Halim sat looking at Husin Limbara with a cruel smile playing on his lips. Then, with studied slowness, he took a cigarette out from a pack on the table, put it into his mouth, replaced the cigarettes on the table, took a match from the table, lit his cigarette, then inhaled deeply and puffed the smoke upwards. Raden Kaslan watched Halim’s gestures with terror in his heart. Husin Limbara said to himself that the man was dangerous but could be bought, and decided to pay Halim’s price.
‘Brothers,’ Halim then said in a cold voice, ‘the government which we are supporting at the moment is not popular in the eyes of the people. If I wanted to, I could write even more sharply and violently about this government than the opposition does. The opposition newspapers don’t know even one half of what I know and have seen with my own eyes as to the doings of this government.’ And Halim looked sharply at Husin Limbara and Raden Kaslan.
Twilight in Djakarta Page 12